Survivor's Guilt
by zalazny
Summary: He wanted to scream, to die, to drag them back from the dead and take their place,


I was bored and didn't want to study for exams. I've always found that Supernatural is a really sad show on some levels and I just felt like voicing my opinion on Dean's feelings during the second season. Sorry if it rambles on, I'm not a good writer on my good days.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. Or hamburgers, but I'd really like one right now.

He closed his eyes and rested his head back against the headrest of the driver's seat in the Impala. He let a long sigh of breath escape his chest as he attempted to relax. It was harder to do lately. With closed eyes he could see them play across the screen of his mind. Flashes of faces, of places, of mistakes. Vaguely he wondered if it was his being an older brother that made him feel like it was all his fault. Maybe being the oldest... but deep inside he had already corrected himself. He was a disease, a curse to those around him, and he couldn't change. He knew he never would.

He thought of Sam. He would do anything for his brother and yet he couldn't completely stamp out the feeling of jealousy that burned gently through him. The words of the demon haunted him. _He was always John's favourite. Even when they fought it was more concern than he ever felt for you._ Demons lie. He constantly reminded himself of this. And yet it had sparked memories. His father's face after the shtriga attacked, his disappointment in his firstborn evident in his expression. Dad greeting Sam in Chicago, with Dean standing in the background. Dad angry that he didn't call about Sam's visions. That one hurt. His dad had never called back after he called him from Lawrence, had never aknowledged Sam's call about Dean dying. Dean sometimes wondered what would've happened if he _had_ died. How long would it have been before Dad knew? Would he be more upset at his son's death or the fact that Dean left Sam unprotected? All his life since Mum had died he'd tried to be the perfect son, to make Dad proud, and somewhere along the way he still managed to screw up it seemed. Sam had always been his own person. He was timid and yet had managed to draw their father's wrath often enough. He'd followed orders but reluctantly and never enjoyed the hunt. He wanted _normal_. And yet he grew to be just like Dad, stubburn and determined to achieve his goals. And perfect little soldier Dean was in the background, breaking up their fights and stuck in the middle. He smirked to himself as the song played briefly in his head. _Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right..._ The one time his father had been really drunk he had ranted to Dean, about Sam, about Dean, about Mum, about the demon. It had been just after Sam left for Stanford and 22 year old Dean didn't know what to do beside sit by and let his dad's unvieled sadness and anger wash over him. Halfway through muttering angrily about Sam's choice to pursue higher education, Dad had turned suddenly to him, looking directly into his eyes for the first time since Sam left hours before. _You have her eyes, you know. Sammy an' me, we're different and completely the same all at once...but you an' her...you have her eyes..._ He had begun to weep but his gaze never left Dean's face, never wavered until Dean fled the room. That had been the only time he had ever said anything like that. And then his last words to Dean before he died were about Sam.

And then he died. For Dean. His life for Dean's. For the second time in his life someone else had died instead of him. He wanted to scream, to die, to drag them back from the dead and take their place. He wanted the family together. He had said as much to Sam. He had said he wanted it back the way things were. What way was that though? When had they ever been happy? His loose memories of his mother had faded to almost nothing a long time ago, something he would never tell anyone, especially Sam. Sam had no memories of a good life and Dean wanted him to believe Dean did. To believe that Dean remembered being normal at one point. He didn't. Not really. He wanted to. He wanted a lot of things lately. He wanted to cry, to sleep, to hit something, to see his father, his mother.

And Sam watched him. Everyday he faced those sympathetic eyes, that face that displayed perfect empathy, that voice that coaxed him to release his bottled up feelings. But he couldn't. He felt that if he freed his emotions he's destroy the world, he'd ruin everything he loved, kill everyone he cared for. He was the oldest, he was supposed to be in control. He was supposed to protect his brother. He would go to Hell and back to do that. He was supposed to kill the bad guy, save the day. But he didn't want to anymore. _The dead should stay dead.._ He thought of Dad, of the man who the Reaper had killed to save him, of Leyla...they weren't the ones who should've died. That was one thing he didn't question.

"Hey, Dean! I brought take-out!" Sam called as he neared the passenger-side door of the car. There was no response so he stck his head through the window. "Dean?" His brother was sitting at the wheel, head back, breathing the even breaths of sleep. Sam disposited the food on the back seat and quietly climbed onto the passenger seat. He looked over at Dean again. Even in sleep his brother looked sad. "Come on, Dean. Sleeping badly is my job," Sam said softly. He knew his brother was crumbling from everything that had happened, starting with their dad's death. Sam sighed. He also knew his brother felt it was his fault.

Dean stirred and blinked. "Sammy?"

"Yeah, Dean?"

"Did you say something?" Dean turned towards Sam, eyes still bleary with sleep. Sam shook his head.

"Uh, just talking to myself," he replied.

"Huh. I could've sworn you said something about take-out. God, I'm starved."

Sam couldn't help grinning. "It's in the back," he said, jabbing a thumb behind them. Dean grunted happily, wiping a hand over his face as he tried to wake up all the way. Sam reached back and grabbed the bag of food, passing some of its contents to Dean.

"Mmmmmmm burgers! Nice!" Dean started eagerly into a hamburger, juggling fries in his other hand. Sam smiled again, watching his brother's expression turn happy at least for now.

"I'm glad you're okay, Dean."

Dean didn't look up fom his half-eaten food. "I have no idea what you're talking about, dude." He did.


End file.
